Tylan

No one could have guessed, least of all she, that her employer's son would take notice of a plain, little kitchen girl. There was an instant connection between them. Of course, she'd never have dared to act on it. But, suddenly, the daily dance had become the thing she busied herself with to distract her thoughts from him, rather than from the mystery that was her own tale. Stolen glances and subtle smiles became the reason she sprang from her cot each morning. Weeks passed, and still neither had the nerve to voice their feelings.

When she awoke, she was covered in blood. Not all of it her own. Her head was pounding, and the knot atop it was nearly the size of her palm. Beside her lay a man. Had he not been filthy and battered, he might have been quite handsome. Rich, chestnut brown hair. The grime and old scars accentuating his striking blue eyes and chiseled features. Pale, bright blue. Those eyes might not have been seen had he not been staring ahead at nothing at all. He never got the chance to tell her what had happened or who he was.

The part of my journal is a memory of my youth, I was Thirteen, Gallius and Annastaysia Twelve.